Memoirs of a Monster
by Hammermaster
Summary: A collection of personal narratives from the Frankenstein Monster.
1. Chapter 1 The Creature's Red Letters

**The Creature's Red Letters**

**_A piece written by the Frankenstein Monster during his days of solitude beneath the fallen wind mill._  
**

I found I had more power than I ever knew. To lift a book with my hands is easy enough. To open the cover and enter into its words is wisdom. With every flick of the page, with every verse, with every red letter I found a new part of myself. A new me.

When I fell beneath the Wind Mill I was left with only a few things. Bottles and bottles of Absinthe, horrible stuff. I tried drinking it once. It burned my throat. I took the body of my father and buried it in the back of the cave. I often go there, wondering how he felt at the end. What was it like to play God? What did he plan to do with me?

The only other thing he left me was a small leather bound Bible. It was my only comfort. Every red letter sparked something inside me. Something... indescribable. Heaven, hell, damnation, salvation.

Its funny that I'm only a year old, yet I know what damnation feels like. I wonder if my father is in heaven, waiting for me. And yet I wonder still if he is in hell, because he tried to play God, and consorted with the son of the devil.

Dracula! The beast in human flesh. A nightmare unlike any other. A face I do not wish to see again. He killed my father. He killed my father! Before I even knew him, he was dead. Sucked dry of all blood and let fall to the ground.

No flower that I could ever place on his grave could ever do justice. But how do I know this? My father, worked so hard to give me life. And yet I wonder why he didn't give me life like a normal person would. Why didn't he just find a nice girl, get married, and have a child normally? I would give anything for a normal life, and I'm sure that my soul would still be here.

But he chose me this face, sewn together from pieces of other men. He chose me this heart, crafted from steel and electricity. I'm never in silence, for the buzzing of my heart inside me hinders my senses and blocks my thoughts. I am truly alone in this world. It is times like these when I read the Bible again.

I've probably read through it seven times since I got it. Other than venturing out now and then to find food, there is little else for me to do. I cannot leave this place, for if I do then Dracula will find me. And I won't allow myself to be used to power my father's machine. Not for Dracula. Not for his children.

I pause because I don't know what else to say. I'm not a writer, I did not come to write someone else's story. Instead I... I'm just here to write my own story, I guess. But how can I know what my story is if I don't know myself? This Bible states that Love is the purpose for all things, even life. I have life, and though it is artificial I know that to make it right I must find this Love. I don't fully understand.  
"We love Him because He first loved us."  
1 John 4:9-10

I wonder, did my father love me? He must have, for I am his child. Does God love me? I was not made by him. I was made by a mortal, by Dr. Frankenstein, my father. Maybe God does not love me. Maybe I am alone.

But Frankenstein did not create my soul. He may have called it into this body he fashioned, but he did not create it. God did. He may have pieced my body together, but he did not make the pieces. God did. He may have made my heart from electricity, but who is the one who controls all Lightning? God is.

I am not alone. Even though I am in solitude I am not alone. I don't know what the future has in store for me. Sometimes I think I'd rather die. See this heaven, its surely better than this depressing world. Its surely better than this living hell. But yet, I want to live. There is something in life, something that even I, a man sewn from the pieces of others, must find as well. And I am sorry God that I am not who I could be, but I was not the one who decided to create me. I am a creature, but not just a creature. I am a good creature.

_**So what do you think? Good enough for ya? Please leave me a review. Oh, and if you like to roleplay feel free to visit my new Van Helsing RPG forum. We need more members.  
**_


	2. Chapter 2 Following the Light

**Following the Light**

I wish someone would tell me what makes me so different. Is it the green of my skin? The broadness of my shoulders? Is it my flesh that so easily falls apart? Perhaps it is the prejudices of the lost race called man.

Oh what I could say to man, living or dead. And I say man because humanity is ruled by men, fought over by men, while the women are silenced, just like I am. But not even I know this as I should, for I cannot venture far from the safety of my cave. And though I am save here I am frequently hunted. I know it, I see the lights, I hear the voices above. I hear their frightened whispers. Whispers of people who don't understand what they are dealing with and why.

Oh I hate whispering. I do not even speak, except that I may learn more. Do I care what man has to say? No. And yet I read. It seems that I care what God has to say. And yet then I wonder why I care so much. I see the people above me, how little they care for morality, how they hunt me like a criminal, because I was made different than they are. Sometimes I wish I could crush them into the ground!

And yet I know this is wrong. We are a lost race, men. We wander through the darkness searching for the light. Yet when we see the light we ignore it, and continue on, claiming that there is another light, a more important light. Or we fashion our own lights, and follow them like a bunch of foolish dogs following the scent of a spoiled goose.

But yet the true light remains, it has not forgotten us. We are like sheep, scattered across an open plain, with our shepherd begging us to return to him, but we will not.

"A light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."

-John 1:5

And while we are not returning we make a point of defacing our shepherds landscape, poisoning his waters, and butchering the sheep that still are loyal to him. What lost hypocritical fools we are.

Yet I know someone would call me foolish for saying all this. After all, I am young, and someone could easily tell me that I don't know that which I talk of. Well, even though I'm young I am not a child. My earthly father did not fashion for me a child's brain, or a child's body, thank you very much.

Sometimes, when I sit here in my chamber listening to the people above me scouring the landscape in search of me, I feel that I've learned more by sitting down here, eating, breathing, and reading the Bible, than they have with all the silly distractions they have above.

Its times like these when my thoughts go to Dracula, and how he is involved in this whole scheme of things. And then it hits me. He's a sheep, just as we are, he's just been lost longer, and fallen further than we have. He's just dedicated his life to drawing more sheep down with him to his pit. And yet he does it in such a scary and horrible way that people think he is something different. No, the only power he has over them is the power they allow him to have.


End file.
